


Unloserific

by Rungian



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bad Puns, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rungian/pseuds/Rungian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misfire is enjoying a peaceful bath when he is rudely interrupted. Fulcrum/Misfire. Good old healthy PWP. Contains masturbation, fellatio and terrible metaphors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unloserific

Skids stares at me with a smouldering glower that only looks better framed between my legs and rock-hard cock. I shudder as he encases my throbbing deathray in one gun-savvy hand.

 

Guess I must look a pretty sight, half-submerged in the hot oil bath with my hand stubbornly between my legs as I fantasize about well-endowed Autobooty. 

 

Don't care, I decide, fondling my hefty fun gun.

 

Interface port is slick with fluid and crying out for attention. Another sigh of _Skids_ escapes me as my spare hand travels towards my sadly-neglected nethermaw. _Mmngh_ as I slide two fingers in between the nicely-lubed folds and begin massaging, matching the rhythm to that of my other hand. 

 

Lean head back against the edge of the bath and once again moan Skids' name to the ceiling. 

 

Sure, the war's over and all, but it doesn't get any easier to find a decent fuck, especially when half of the ones worth pursuing would more than happily murder me on sight. If I were desperate (and I try to ignore the nagging part of my processor which insists that I _am_ ), I'd settle for a crewmate, but the pickings really aren't amazing. 

 

Primus. Phantom Skids taunts me by running his tongue along the barrel of his weapon, his optics holding mine and cutting in to me like lasers cutting into a freshly-cleaned corpse.

 

Am about to strongly insist he impale me with his _other_ weapon when -

 

_Bang_

 

Holy mechfragging ball bearings!

 

Almost tear delicate parts as I rip my fingers away from my privates when the door to the oil room slams open and another mech strides in. 

 

Barely have a moment to glance at the frame before I dunk my head under the surface of the oil with a soft splash.

 

Try to ignore nagging part of mind telling me to stop hiding. Been caught in plenty of embarrassing situations before but not sure many of them live up to literally leaking lubricant in the bath while thoughtfucking some Autobutt.

 

Can hear the clatters as whoever has interrupted me moves around the room. Presumably preparing to get in the bath. If they do that, they may very well notice me, as if the panicked bubbles escaping my plating aren't clue enough.

 

Depending on who it is, sharing a bath may be the worst thing that could possibly happen.

 

Luckily managed to catch a brief glimpse. Body is about the same size as mine, so definitely not Spinister or Grimlock, thank Primus. Unsure how I could cope with Brainless or Brain Dead clambering into my love pool. Also definitely noticed complete cranial symmetry, so Crankcase is out. Shame on that front, could be quite hot to rub my spanner in his headhole. 

 

Krok or Fulcrum, then. 

 

Probably Krok. Fulcrum never seems to venture that far round the WAP. Can't decide if it's cause he's boring or a coward or a boring coward.

 

Not that Krok is unattractive. He's got the whole Fearless Leader vibe going on, and in my attention-starved mind this is suddenly one of the sexiest things I have ever thought of. Certainly preferable to Spinister clunking around with his hammerhands, or Flywheels crying _Primus_ passionately for all the wrong reasons _._ Suddenly find myself quite thankful that Flywheels is dead. He was fuckable enough (besides the feet), but with the added danger that he'd transform and shear off your nuts if he tried to fake an orgasm.

 

Attention drawn back to the figure in the room with me as I hear movement. It's distorted through the oil but it sounds like Krok is moving towards the bath and is going to get in.

 

Yeah. I don't know what I expected. Gee, Misfire, why would someone come to the oil bath at this time unless it was to _get in the bath_. 

 

Try to quash down small amount of panic as I see Krok's shadow loom over the surface. He can't see me yet because of the density of the oil, but there's no way he can miss me once he steps in. Being discovered relaxing is no problem, but it becomes a bit more of an issue when I've clearly been shoving my fingers into myself up to the knuckle. It's not something I want to try to explain to my boss.

 

Now acutely aware of my pulsing energon sword. Somehow manage to force it back into its sheath. Certainly not the most comfortable thing I could have done, but infinitely more comfortable than having Krok try to explain the mechabirds and robobees to Spinister.

 

Shift away from the side of the pool a little but quickly become aware that any further movement will betray the fact I'm hiding down here like a subversive bathroom ninja. Dim optics but can still see that the shadow has paused suspiciously. 

 

Lube-swilling frag! How long does this mech take to get in the bath!? At least he's started moving again, slowly sliding one foot into the hot oil.

 

His foot knocks my shoulder and he pauses. Then it knocks again, then a third time. Yes, congratulations, you have discovered there is something in the pool with you. What a winner. Maybe it _is_ Spinister after all.

 

Krok's foot moves again, to the side. Looks like he's trying to avoid stepping on the uneven surface that is my body. 

 

Failure.

 

With spectacular accuracy and lamentable bad luck, Krok plants his foot straight onto my ankle. The oil bears some of the weight, but it still hurts like frag. 

 

“ _HOOOAARRRRRRROOWWWWWFFFFRAG_ ,” I explain in eloquent protest, breaching the surface of the oil, droplets flying from my head wild and free. Krok answers my appearance by screaming, his hands flying upwards and spinning as he loses his balance. Windmilling arms flail in a way that reminds me of helicopter rotors for a brief moment before he disappears into the pool with a loud _splash_. 

 

Stare at the ripples in the pool where the other mech had just been. That hadn't been Krok -

 

“What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_?” Fulcrum asks as he springs up out of the pool, glaring at me like I've murdered his pet cyberdog or something.

 

“What?” I ask petulantly, “I was having a bath. What's it look like?”

 

Fulcrum looks like he's about to melt into a gleaming puddle of fury. Huh. Didn't think it was possible for his face to get any redder. “ _Why_ , in the name of Primus' holy _stick shift_ , does that involve _hiding at the bottom of the bath_!?”

 

“Makin' sure I don't miss a spot,” I sulk. Excuses sounds pathetic even to my audios, but Fulcrum is gullible enough to buy it.

 

Except the look on his face tells me he doesn't buy it. 

 

Will hand it to Fulcrum. No one else on this ship, with the possible exception of Crankcase, has managed to perfect that beautifully scathing look he has. Pull a face as he trains that look at me, clearly angling for an explanation which I'm not willing to give.

 

Awkward silence.

 

Then Fulcrum shrugs and gives up. “I'm going to have my bath, if you don't mind.”

 

“Sure.” Don't ask him why I'd mind him having a bath after I almost kill him with fright. Fulcrum's the type who would explain every little detail of why he was going out of his way to forgive me for something which is half his fault anyway. If not for his bad timing, this never would have happened, after all.

 

Slowly move self to sit at the side of the bath with only my feet dangling in. Mostly to get my crotch out of the hot oil; the heat isn't helping the little lover, who is rubbing painfully against the inside of my armour.

 

Fulcrum stretches, sighing in satisfaction, apparently determined to enjoy his bath whether or not I am watching. I can hear several of his pistons pop back into alignment, but honestly I'm more than a bit preoccupied by how his abdomen stretches out deliciously. Can almost feel the fluid dribbling down my thigh as Mechaboner demands even more insistently to come out and say hello.

 

He's talking to me. Dammit, Misfire, concentrate. “I haven't ached so much since that K-class briefing I went to.”

 

“Oh?” I ask, squinting at him. Need to somehow distract self from the fact I'm as horny as a turbofox in heat and he's just made it worse by being too attractive. Quickly press legs together. Yeah, like _that'll_ help.

 

Primus, find a boring topic of boring conversation that boring Fulcrum'll lap up. Uhm... “What do you do at those briefings?” 

 

Fulcrum looks at me like I'm defective. “All the K-class mechs gather around a fire and swap stories about what battles we've been in, then we braid each other's circuitry while talking about who's most likely to get laid.”

 

Huh. Get the feeling he's not being entirely sincere.

 

He sighs.

 

“Briefing on what's expected of us when we jump. Always a fresh set of first-timers, so we all have to learn the ropes.”

 

Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Open mouth, insert left foot. 

 

“Least it's a way to get to know your squadmates?” And that is _definitely_ a look of incredulity on Fulcrum's face. 

 

“It would be, if they weren't all dead.”

 

Well shit. Open mouth wider, insert right foot. Still, he doesn't seem torn up about that verbal suicide. Think he was angrier when I was trying to pinch his fuel pump that one time.

 

Wonder if I could stretch my mouth wide enough to fit Little Fulcrum in there, alongside both of my feet. Would do to shut me up, 'cause apparently I suck at small talk – _stop thinking thoughts like that._ Admonish self as systems heat up even more. My mineshaft was already well prepared for drilling. Surely even Commodore Virgin over there can't miss -

 

\- he hasn't missed it. He's staring at me. At my crotch.

 

Look down with a growing sense of dread. Well-founded dread. Suppress a wince of embarrassment as I see that I have, quite literally, leaked lubricant from my tingling orifice.

 

“Uh, you uh,” Fulcrum stops for a moment and licks his lips. I feel like punching him in the face as my steel girder twitches again. “Were you, uh, busy when I came in?”

 

Squint at him to try and see if he's joking or not. 

 

“I guess,” I grunt noncommittally. Annoyed he's seen through my admittedly-poor attempt at hiding, but not going to give him the satisfaction of showing any embarrassment.

 

“Oh.” 

 

He's silent for a while.

 

“Want a hand?”

 

“What.”

 

Can't help myself. Coming from Private Prude Fulcrum, who pulls faces of practised disgust every time Spinister rediscovers that he can make his cock stand up on its own? Would have thought I had more chance being propositioned passionately by Shockwave after dinner and a romantic walk by the lakeside. 

 

Offline optics, then switch them back on. No, it hasn't worked. Still here, still staring at Fulcrum, who looks a little perturbed by my lack of response.

 

He's definitely just offered to beat me off. For once in my life, I'm speechless.

 

“Misfire,” Fulcrum says, not without reproach. “I'm not in the habit of offering to fellate my crew mates. Don't discourage me further.”

 

Stare at him blankly for another moment before mutely nodding my head. 

 

He visibly relaxes before moving through the oil like a shark. Matching his sudden ease with my own, I finally unsheathe my bait. Misfire Jr springs forth, glad to be finally free of his cumbersome, claustrophobic prison. Sigh of relief quickly turns to a hitched gasp as Fulcrum reaches out and runs his fingers along the length of my dick.

 

Then, courtesy thrown aside, his mouth is on me. No warning, no pleasantries, just straight-to-the-point. So very Fulcrum. I gasp again. Moan softly. Who would have thought that crummy Chinface would be better at blowjobs than my fantasy Autobot agent?

 

Realisation smacks me in the face like an angry Megatron and flees with the remaining shreds of my dignity in tow.

 

“Fulcrum,” I cough, trying to keep my voice level. Doesn't work very well.

 

“Mm?” His vocoder thrums, causing his mouth to vibrate around my engorged length. _Shit._

 

“ _\--_ You've done – this before,” frown at him accusingly. The effect, I fear, is somewhat lost in the little pleasured moan which punctuates my scolding. 

 

“Oh,” Fulcrum gives my cock a thoughtful lick. “Yes. Yes, I have.” Again he runs his tongue along my twitching member from base to tip before giving the head a little suckle. My hands grip the edge of the bath. Think I might fall in otherwise and impale Fulcrum on my long sword.

 

“What,” he looks a little indignant, “you think I'm a blushing newbie because I don't put out for every ham-handed advance made towards my person?”

 

“Yes,” I mumble snittishly, annoyed that he has moved his mouth away from my now-neglected nethers to launch on his self-righteous tirade. Truthfully, I don't give a shit whether he was pure and virginal or fucking for Cybertron, as long as he shoves my weeping spike back in his preachy pie-hole.

 

Fulcrum actually looks kinda peeved. Don't care, until he starts moving back as though he is going to leave me, as it were, shafted. 

 

No. Oh no no, that's not fair.

 

“Oi.” narrow my optics at him. “Get back on the goods.” 

 

He's too busy being pouty and cross, glaring at me like he wants an apology. Certainly not going to give him one when I've done nothing wrong. 

 

Instead, I pout churlishly and move one hand, gripping my pulsing protrusion and beginning to stroke slowly and sensuously, my other hand moving so that I can lean back and spread my legs a little wider. The spread only betters Fulcrum's full-on view of my leaking love lane.

 

Fulcrum resists quite well. Can see his face twitching, his optics dimming as he stares at me stroking myself. 

 

I moan softly, and he curses.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” I can hear him growl, “you win.”

 

He advances again, and, purring like a cybercat that got the cream, I move my hand so his unexpectedly talented mouth can once again envelope me.

 

Shit. He looks far too attractive, his head bobbing down between my legs. One of his hands moves to my thigh, spreading my legs a bit wider... 

 

I tilt my head back as Fulcrum mouths the base of my twitching phalanx, all the while proving to my dripping port just why large chins are beneficial for oral sex.


End file.
